


Summer Jobs and First Dates

by alocalband



Series: TW Tumblr Ficlets [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 16:48:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9616601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alocalband/pseuds/alocalband
Summary: “Having a crush is not the end of the world, dude.”But “crush” is putting it mildly. This is more like some great, big, life-altering, head over heels, "marriage proposal in the works," sort of deal. BecausethisisDerek Hale.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Tumblr [here.](http://alocalband.tumblr.com/post/147824715910/for-my-final-square-in-the-sterekwriters-summer)

As far as summer jobs go, slinging ice cream at the parlor on Main Street isn’t a bad gig. Stiles could totally do worse than getting to enjoy the comforts of air conditioning all day, while adding some definition to his biceps from scooping out rock hard ice cream every five minutes. His coworkers are friendly, his boss is laid back, and by the time school starts back up again he’ll have saved up just enough money to finally get the Jeep a new set of tires _and_ himself a new laptop.

So really he has no reason to complain. Which is what Scott tells him every afternoon when he comes in to visit and mooch off the free sample policy.

But Scott doesn’t _understand,_ okay? Because despite all the benefits of working here, this job might just be the worst thing to ever happen to Stiles.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Scott rolls his eyes and grabs for the tiny plastic taster spoon of rocky road Stiles holds out between them.

“Don’t mock my pain,” Stiles scowls back.

“Life _is_ –“

“Shut up, I’m literally dying here.”

“Having a crush is not the end of the world, dude.”

But “crush” is putting it mildly. This is more like some great, big, life-altering, head over heels, "marriage proposal in the works," sort of deal. Because _this_ is _Derek Hale_.

Derek Hale, who Stiles has been in love with for the last four years, and who Stiles was all set to pine for from a distance until the guy started showing up at the ice cream parlor every Friday afternoon this summer with his little sister.

Stiles did not honestly realize that Derek could get any hotter, until he was forced to watch Derek bend over backwards catering to the whims of a seven-year-old on a sugar high. It was simultaneously the most adorable and most attractive thing Stiles has ever seen.

He’s basically ruined for all other men now. Forever. He will never recover.

Scott just rolls his eyes yet again and asks for a third sample of the Mint Chip.

When Friday afternoon rolls around that week, Stiles is about as prepared as he ever is for the sight of Derek entering the shop, hand in hand with Cora.

They order their usual, which Stiles pretends with minimal amounts of blushing that he doesn’t have memorized. Single scoop of strawberry on a cone for Derek, triple chocolate sundae for Cora. Sties scoops their ice cream and rings them up and doesn’t say more than five words the entire time. Mostly because he’s afraid that once he starts talking, he’ll never be able to shut himself up and will eventually say something incriminating. And since “incriminating” is usually the only language he speaks, it’s a safe bet that he’s not wrong about that.

Besides, Derek’s never given any indication that he even knows who Stiles is, so. They may have gone to the same school for the last several years, but their social circles have never come anywhere close to intersecting. Especially as Stiles’ social circle more or less just consists of Scott and his father. And his Jeep.

Today, however, rather than stick to the table by the window with his sister, reading and coloring and getting melting ice cream everywhere, Derek approaches the counter again all on his own.

“Hey,” he says with an easy smile on his face. A smile he definitely only pulls out when his sister is around, and which has completely destroyed Stiles’ higher brain functions on more than one occasion. Stiles was already in love with the guy when all he did was scowl, but now that Stiles knows what it looks like when he’s _happy_ … “Do you think I could get some extra cherries? Cora loves them.”

“Oh. Yeah, man. Of course.” Technically he’s not supposed to give out extra toppings without charging for them, but Daphne’s on break, so no one’s around to call him on it. Stiles grabs one of the small styrofoam bowls they use for the kiddie size and fills it to the brim with maraschino cherries.

As soon as Stiles hands it over, Derek pops one into his mouth, and then proceeds to lick the sticky red syrup off of his fingers.

Stiles is going to _die_.

“Thanks,” Derek says. And fucking _winks_.

There’s no way he’s not doing this on purpose, the asshole. Though Stiles has no way of proving that. And as the afternoon winds down, Derek leaving with his sister without another word or glance in Stiles’ direction, Stiles is pretty sure he’s giving himself too much credit. Derek doesn’t even know who Stiles is, and definitely wouldn’t deign to so much as engage in casual flirting with him.

The place doesn’t close until eleven, and Stiles is usually the one tasked with shutting down and locking up, since he’s the most wide awake of any of them at that time of night. He’s only just turned the neon “open” sign off, when a knock on the locked front door has him jumping and flailing his arms out in search of the nearest object he can use to defend himself. Which happens to be a can of whipped cream. Awesome. That’ll really strike fear into the hearts of men.

But when Stiles manages to work up the courage to peak out the glass into the night, clutching his whipped cream can tightly as if it were mace… it’s to find Derek Hale. His hands stuffed deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched and tense, expression guarded.

Stiles swallows and unlocks the door. “Hi. Uh. We actually just closed, man, sorry.”

“I know.” Derek shuffles his feet. Stiles has never seen him look so nervous before. “I just… I knew you’d be working? And I don’t have your number, so I thought…”

“You thought…?” Stiles blinks dumbly at him. “I’m sorry, what exactly is happening right now?”

Derek stands up a little straighter, looking determined. “I was hoping I could ask you out. On a date. With me.”

Stiles narrows his eyes and grips the whipped cream can tighter. “Is this a joke? Did somebody dare you to do this? Did Scott _bribe_ you to do this?”

“What? No.” Derek frowns, his eyebrows furrowing, and Stiles refuses to find it adorable. Or hot. Or some weird combination of adorable and hot that makes Stiles want to get down on his knees for the guy. “I’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask you out for over a year now.”

“A _year_?” Stiles gapes.

Something about his tone makes Derek wince slightly and take a half step back. “If you’re going to turn me down just get on with it, but you don’t have to ridicule me. I’m not ashamed of my feelings.”

“Dude, _no_ , I– Oh my god, this cannot be real life. Derek, holy hell, I’ve been in love with you since eighth grade!"

Derek practically does a double take. “You have?” The tips of his ears start to burn a bright red, and it’s the sweetest thing Stiles can think of that Derek is somehow more embarrassed by being _liked back_ than he was about being potentially rejected. Stiles wants to keep him _forever_.

Before he can second guess himself, Stiles grabs Derek by the arm and pulls him all the way into the shop, locking the door after him. “Listen, could you just… Just wait here for a minute? Like, five minutes tops. I just have to finish up in the back and then we can go, I don’t know, make out behind the 7-Eleven or something, I’m not picky. And I’m kind of dead on my feet right now, but please don’t leave yet? Please?”

Derek stares at him, his eyes still wide and so freaking beautiful even in the dim light, and then nods his head slowly. 

Stiles fist bumps the air like the loser he is, shoves his whipped cream can into Derek’s chest, and then rushes into the back room to clean up and reset the timer on the safe.

It takes a little longer than five minutes, mostly because when Stiles tries to rush through things he only ends up making unnecessary messes and creating more work for himself. By the time he gets back out to the main room, Derek is seated on the floor behind the counter, back pressed against the freezer, idly playing with his phone. The screen illuminates his face in the relative dark, making the sharp planes seem all the sharper. Stiles’ breath catches just looking at him.

Stiles spots the whipped cream can sitting on the floor beside him, and goes to pick it up, taking its place himself and holding onto it with both hands so as to keep them still. Derek turns his phone off and sets it aside, but doesn’t say anything.

They sit there in the dark, side by side, staring at their own laps for a long, quiet moment. Until Stiles finally takes the plunge, knocks his knee against Derek’s companionably, and Derek turns his head to offer a shy smile.

Stiles turns his head as well, but hesitates at the last second before moving closer. On a whim, maybe because his default in a tense situation is to go for the joke, Stiles lifts the whipped cream can up, drags the nozzle along Derek’s jaw and then places a spot of the foamy white cream onto his cheek. 

Derek sputters, caught of guard, but Stiles darts forward before he can say anything, and licks it off of him. 

When Stiles leans back, Derek’s expression is frozen in something like shock, but his pupils are blown and his breath has started to come out fast and shallow.

Stiles tentatively moves the whipped cream to Derek’s neck. Derek swallows and Stiles can feel the motion in his hand as it moves the can up and down. He presses down quick, puts a spot of cream right on Derek’s Adam’s apple, and then ducks down slowly and licks it off, nosing at the stubble under Derek’s chin.

When he pulls back this time, Derek’s eyes are closed and he’s drifting slowly forward. Stiles raises the can up and gently presses the tip of the nozzle against Derek’s bottom lips. 

Derek’s tongue darts out and licks the remnants of cream off the tip.

Stiles nearly comes in his pants at the sight.

Instead, he drops the can onto the floor with a loud clatter and kisses Derek soundly.

It’s the hottest first kiss Stiles has ever had. Wet and hungry and like a the best kind of argument, a heated give and take. Derek’s arms wrap around him like they were made for it, his hands going down to grip Stiles’ ass. 

Stiles lifts a leg up and over so that he can sit in Derek’s lap. Can feel Derek hard against his own straining erection, which elicits a groan from the both of them.

“Okay, I think…” Stiles pants against Derek’s mouth. Derek squeezes his ass, and Stiles bites back a whine. “I think we’re skipping a few steps here. Didn’t you say something about a date?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did. Sorry, let me just…” Derek screws his eyes shut tight and tries to catch his breath. Stiles rocks against him and they both groan again. “If you want me to slow down, you really need to not do that again.”

So Stiles does it again.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Derek arches his hips up into Stiles.

“You know what, I take it back,” Stiles breathes. “This is perfect. An ice cream parlor is the perfect first date location.” He kisses Derek again, reckless and wanting, and rocks against him with abandon. Derek gives back just as hard, creating a frantic rhythm between them, his hands pulling up off of Stiles’ ass just long enough to dive back down again beneath his jeans this time, fingers digging into skin.

Just when Stiles thinks he’s about to explode from overstimulation, Derek moves one of his hands deeper into Stiles’ pants, sliding between his cheeks and then down until he’s pressing right up against… And then Stiles is coming so hard he might just black out for a second.

When he’s aware of himself again, it’s just in time to catch Derek shuddering through his own orgasm. Derek’s mouth drops open, kiss-swollen lips shiny with saliva, and then he drops his forehead down onto Stiles’ shoulder to pant wetly against Stiles’ collarbone.

A few struggling breaths later, they both shift awkwardly, but don’t pull away.

Stiles glances down at the matching wet spots on their jeans and then back up at where Derek is now smiling fondly at him. Stiles smiles right back at him like an idiot. “I didn’t know it was possible to feel this gross and this impossibly happy at the exact same time.”

“Wanna do it again sometime?” Derek asks, smile transitioning into a playful smirk.

“Hell yeah.” Stiles grins. Best summer job ever.


End file.
